


Compromised

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Complicated Relationships, Conflict, Drinking, F/M, Friendship/Love, Male-Female Friendship, Passive-aggression, Slow Dancing, Sort of canonical but not really since I want them to smash their faces together, Taunting, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, formal wear, mean spirited jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 14:39:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5008570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 3x03 drabblefic about Skoulson working through their issues and Rosalind prying around for Coulson's weak spots (aka Daisy).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compromised

“You look beautiful tonight, Agent Johnson.” 

Which is funny, because he’s only seen her wrist lightly touch the bar, but he recognizes it instantly.

“So do you,” she replies, sounding a bit cocky. 

He watches her look him over in his tuxedo.  

“Had some help with the tie?” she asks, touching her fingers to her earring, like she’s checking the back. 

“Mack,” he says, taking a long drink of his scotch on the rocks, looking at her dress out of the corner of his eye. 

Black velvet to the floor.  Cut low in the front.  It’s very simple, and elegant.  
  
“Can I get you something to drink?” he offers, turning towards her, now that he can feel the alcohol kicking in a little. 

“Is that what we’re supposed to do?  Stand here at the bar and make small talk?” 

“No. We should dance,” he says, finishing the drink and setting it down on the bar, before offering her his left hand. 

“Dancing.  Right.” 

She takes it as he leads her out onto the floor, then lets her fit herself against him, decide where she wants to put her hands. 

As she rests her other hand on his shoulder, he brings his down to her back, and feels fingers press against skin, goes still for a moment, then starts to move them with the music. 

It lasts like this for awhile. Swaying in silence and her letting him guide her.   

He can tell she hasn’t done this often, but she picks it up quickly.   

Like she always does. 

His eyes scan the room and he can see they’re being watched. 

Which is the whole point.  It was an invitation to them both.   

To watch them together.  
  
“You know, I never get to look at you this close. For this long.” 

He peers back at her as her eyes trace over his face. 

“Unless, you know, one of us is almost dying.”  
  
“What are you doing?” he asks, knotting his brow.  
  
“My job.” 

He sighs and turns them a little, to move them further away from their observers.  
  
“You're supposed to make her think this is personal, not-“  
  
“What?” she interrupts him, like a challenge. “You trading Lincoln up for me didn't give that away?”  
  
“That was strategic,” he says, feeling his jaw tense involuntarily.  
  
“Yup,” she says, biting on her lower lip, scrutinizing him even more. “Did you make a face?”  
  
“Huh?” he replies, momentarily thrown off. “ _No_.”  
  
“I bet you made a face,” she says, teasing.  
  
He's caught.  Between being annoyed and the sound of her laughing.  

Even if it’s at his expense, he can’t help it, and cracks a smile, relaxes.  
  
“You have pretty eyes. I’m sure you’ve been told that before?”  
  
“You think so?” he blinks, looking into her brown ones, that particular color etched in his brain like the sound of her voice.  
  
She draws closer to him, her hand moving along his shoulder.  
  
“Skye-“  
  
“You're slipping again,” she says quietly, her hand trailing down his shirt until it’s over his heart.

“Slipping? Falling? What’s the difference?” he jokes. 

“You’re catching on,” she answers approvingly, and leans forwards, then hesitates.  
  
She kisses him. Just at the corner of his mouth.

“What was that for?” he asks tensely, turning into her, as she presses her cheek against his.  
  
“Just...erasing…any doubts.”

“We should’ve talked about this, before-”  
  
“Come on, Phil,” she says seriously, meeting his eyes. “Act flustered, and she won't buy that you're compromised.  Both professionally _and_ personally.”

He relaxes again.  She already knows Daisy’s an asset.  Already used it against him. 

They want to know what she’s after.  
  
“You're enjoying this, aren't you?” he asks her.  
  
“A means to an end,” she says, with something unspoken between them hiding in her eyes.  
  
He gives her a thin smile.  
  
“To get her to tip her hand?” she adds with a sigh, leaning back in. “While you're pulled in two opposing directions?”  
  
“Hopefully she'll go in for the kill,” he says sharply. “Because this is getting old.” 

“Gee, thanks,” she mutters.  
  
“I don't mean that,” he says, tersely. “I mean _this_.”  
  
“This,” she repeats back to him, sternly, and he sees her brows furrow as she practically glares at him.

“Us,” he goes on, rising to the challenge. “That used to work. _This_ doesn't.”  
  
“Can't put the Terrigen back in the crystals, Phil,” she says sarcastically. 

And that is _not_ the button to push right now.  
  
“Do you think that I _care_ that you're Inhuman?” he says, careful not to raise his voice.  
  
But she gets the gesture.  She looks surprised at his offense.  
  
“Not just me,” she corrects him. “All of these outbreaks. _All_ of us.” 

He stops right where they are, in the middle of the floor.  
  
“I want nothing more than to protect these people,” he starts in, “And you-

“Mind if cut in?”  
  
It's Price, wearing a red dress, like it’s armor.  

Looking sharp, as always.  Sounding bored.  As always. 

This is what they wanted, after all.   

He holds eye contact with Daisy, feels his mouth twisted in a frown and takes a breath.  
  
“Things looked a little...shaky from over there,” Price goes on, glancing back and forth between them.  
  
Coulson rolls his eyes, then turns to her to ask if they can have a minute.  
  
“I mean, I'm no seismologist, but-“  
  
“He's all yours,” Daisy says, the minute he breaks contact with her, shaking off his hand, which had found its way around her arm. 

Price watches her go then holds up her hands, like she’s expecting to lead. 

“She's going for her jacket and then she's out of here,” she warns, when Coulson takes her hands.  
  
“Okay,” he says, glaring down at her.  
  
“You two are _intense_ ,” she goes on, as the corner of her mouth turns up.  
  
“I don't want to talk about it,” he replies, shrugging at her as she leads him around the floor.  
  
“Almost thought for a second there you were trying to sell me some smoke and mirrors, but there's no faking _that_.”  
  
“Back off,” he warns her.  
  
“You're not going to chase her down the steps and sweep her-” 

“Really?  Is that the best you’ve got?”  
  
He tenses his jaw again, looks towards the door.  
  
“C'mon, Phil. It’s a joke. I was just enjoying the show.”  
  
“It's not like that,” he answers flatly.  
  
“No,” she answers slowly, watching him. “Of course it's not.”  
  


####

 

“Guess this means you and Lola got vertical?”

She’s teasing him, but he can sense the sharpness in it.

He’s tapped on the outside to her door, still cracked, and she’s still in the dress, taking off her earrings.

It’s true.  He ran back here as fast as he could.

“They’re Bobbi’s, actually,” she says, seeing his eyes on the jewelry in her hand as she puts the rhinestones down on the dresser.

“You’re right.”

“About what?”

He steps closer to her, stops himself.

From doing what he wants to do.  What he always used to do.

“It’s not just about you, it’s all of you,” he explains. “I’ve been trying to adjust to this,” he says, his artificial hand darting out towards her.

She just waits, until he continues.

“All of this.  But, we’re different now.”

“Waking up every day, knowing you could tear a continent apart if you slip up, is more than just different.”

He can feel the underlying anger in her words, and he feels powerless.

And there's nothing he can do about that, even though he led her there.

“We have to figure out how to do this together. Now.  Not missing each other, or relying on what we had to make this work.”

“I want that,” she says, and her eyes say that she means it, but something is holding her back, as he watches her hand rub across the top of the dresser.

He knows with her it will take more than just him saying it.

Sighing, he nods and turns to leave.

“Did you get anything useful?” she asks, changing the subject, noticing his bowtie loose around his neck and the top buttons of his shirt undone.

“Yes,” he answers, looking down at the floor, putting his hands into his pockets.

“And Price thinks you’re…compromised?”

“She does,” he says, frowning for a moment before he looks up at her, wearing a smirk.  “Professionally and personally."

He’s rewarded with a tired smile.

“And, she’s right.”

Her eyes go wide for a moment, and her hand stops tracing circles on the surface of the furniture.

“Feels like a long night,” he says, suddenly unsure at her silence, and turns to leave, when he feels her fingers light on his arm.

Her other hand has twisted to fit her fingers between his artificial ones.

Not that he can feel it.

But he can see it.


End file.
